I awoke on Wednesday when my stereo kicked on and sent “Lateralus” through my speakers and into my skull. Wednesday was my favorite day of the week. Half-pad practice followed by dinner with the grandparents at the local pizza joint. Then after that, it was on to Ray’s place for our weekly poker game. This Wednesday would be a bittersweet one. It was the last day Mr. Williams would be with us in Economics class.

I got ready and went to school searing my Pledge of Allegiance Tour t-shirt. The morning crept by until it was time for Mr. Williams’ class. A desperate joy overtook me as I descended the stairs on my way to his classroom. In a peculiar display of respect, everyone was in the room prior to the chime of the tardy bell. The room was so silent you could hear a mouse fart.

“Alright,” he began. “You all know this is my last day. And as such, I will to use this opportunity to speak to you frankly, as adults.”

He paused, and the lingering silence caused the room to grow tense and claustrophobic.

“Most of you will spend your entire life here. Maybe not in this classroom, maybe not in this town, but at least in the surrounding area. And most of you who do will work, or your spouse will work at one of the local factories. Cry-a-lot, Un-certain-teed, House-debt.”

The classroom chuckled at his terrible puns on Cryovac, Certainteed, and Howmet.

“Alright, I want everybody to stand up. Now hold up both hands in front of you like this,” he said, taking the stance of someone about to do standing shoulder presses. “Good. Now, in each of your hands is a lever. When I say, ‘Make the bag,’ I want you to pull down the one in your right hand. Make the bag! Good. Now, when I say ‘Test the bag,’ I want you to pull down on the one in your left hand. Test the bag!

“Good, good. Are you guys ready to start the rest of your lives?” he queried. A rabble erupted in the room.

“Excellent. I like hearing a little dissent. Make the bag! Test the bag! Make the bag! Test the bag!” he began slowly, with about a second between each command. He then began to quicken his pace until we looked like we were running in place.

“Make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag.

Quittin’ whistle blows,
Time to head home,
Lay me down,
Mornin’ comes back ‘round!

“Make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag, make the bag, test the bag.

Weekend’s here,
Six pack of beer,
Domestic fights,
Marlboro lights!

“Thank you. You guys can sit back down now,” he invited. We all sat down, half of us panting or still laughing. “Sure, that was all fun and games, but that is the reality of this place. Most of your lives will be touched by these kinds of work environments. Sure, a few of you will get out of here and maybe it’ll be different or better. Don’t get me wrong. Those jobs aren’t bad jobs. They pay well enough. The benefits are good enough. But don’t let that be the thing that defines you.”

“What do you mean?” a female voice asked from the back left of me.

“If you have a choice between getting a month behind on the electric bill or canceling a trip to the mountains with your family, which do you do? Most people will pay that electric bill. I say go to the mountains, or the beach, or the cruise, or Vegas, or whatever. If you get too hung up with the grind, with work, with keeping up. . . You lose your mind. You know what they say, ’All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”

* * * *

I was distracted all day. I sneaked out to my truck for a couple pinch hits, and the next thing I knew I was hitting the showers after a refreshing half-pad workout. I got in my truck, threw on Morning View, and listened to “11 a.m.” as I made the half-mile journey to the Pizza Parlour. As soon as I passed the Recreational Activity Center building, I could see the Great Gold Caravan was already there. Uncle Herb’s maroon Silverado was parked right next to it. As I turned into the entrance side of the horseshoe parking lot, I saw The Rat, the 1988 Honda Accord my father so graciously drove so I could have my truck. It appeared that the whole famn damily had beat me there.

That came as no surprise considering the grandparents liked dinner on the table by five-fifteen, my father got out of work at four-thirty, and Uncle Herb never missed a free meal in his life. I parked the truck two spaces down from The Rat in hope my father wouldn’t take a look inside to see all the dirty clothes and scattered papers in the back seat.

When I walked in, I saw we had our usual table, and there was a glass of iced tea marking my spot in the C-booth in the back corner.

“Hey Ben,” I was greeted as I approached the table. Everyone scooched around to make room for me on the end.

“We were just talking about how we need to get someone good on the ballot next November so we can get this dumbass out of office,” my father informed me before I had gotten comfortable in my seat. We aren’t much on idle chit-chat.

“Honestly, with the way things are going, I think a capuchin monkey in a three-piece suit and a D next to his name would be good enough,” I said. “It’s not like our “fearless leader” actually won the last election.”

“Yeah, but never underestimate the power of stupid people in large numbers,” Herb responded.

“Or the conniving, scheming scum that are Dick Cheney and Karl Rove,” my father added. “Just look at what they did to John McCain last go ‘round in the Republican primary.”

“Yeah, they made a decorated POW look like your average schmuck,” Grandpa threw in.

Before things had a chance to turn nasty, some sophomore girl I recognized but didn’t know brought out our usual: one large taco pizza, one large Meat Pleaser, and one mushroom and Canadian bacon turnover. Devon had always been a fussy eater, which is a euphemism for “huge pain in the ass.” He always had his own dish with special instructions.

The conversation shifted from national politics to the local school system, and the adult types asked Timothy, Devon, and I how things were going. Each one of us gave a standardized bullshit answer that masked the anger, anxiety, and depression we all felt. After all, we were eating and we should engage in polite conversation with out elders. Besides, they didn’t want to hear the truth.

The pans slowly rid themselves of contents until at last there was nothing more than a pile of refuse with seven slightly stuffed Ginnings crowded around a captain booth. Grandma was let out of her spot in the middle of the bench and made her way to the register to settle up. While she was gone, my father laid a ten-dollar bill in the middle of the table.

Slowly, we all got up and bid each other farewell. The grandsons all gave Grandma a hug and Grandpa a handshake, and we each got in our respective vehicles to go our respective ways.

* * * *

I stopped by the house for my pregame ritual. I had to shower and put on one of my poker shirts. I needed to burn a stick of Nag Champa and find my card playing hat. I was compelled to make sure I had the right amount of cash in my pocket. I also felt it necessary to bring at least my fair share of greenery. I was ready to go, but there was still about a half hour to kill before game time. I decided to stop by the local Allsup’s convenience store and pick up a four pack of Red Bulls, my poker beverage of choice.

When I pulled out of the parking lot, I decided to take “the long way” to Ray’s. I always play my best cards when I get at the venue no more than fifteen minutes before my first hand. I took FM 368 away from town and toward FM 367, when I remembered Coleman Park Road. I looked at the clock, and it confirmed I had enough time for my detour. My heart rate increased as I made the right-hand turn on to the familiar narrow street.

After sixty seconds of eternity, I pulled into the gap in the weeds that had been Kelli’s driveway. I pulled in past the bamboo patch that grew on the left-hand side, put her in park, and put in Fenix TX’s Lechuga. I flipped down my ashtray and removed the insert, releasing the sweet smell of what had been hiding underneath. After I loaded my chillum, I skip the song to “Katie W” and light my bowl.

I spend the next three and a half minutes smoking, reminiscing, and singing along to the song that represented the first girl I ever fell in love with. The sky was just beginning to turn into pinks and light lavenders, which made me think of the time she died her hair purple, which made me think about the first time I smoked pot, which made me think about that time we went streaking around the trailer park on Victoria and almost got caught by Stephanie’s mom, which made me think about The Danish Encounter, which made me think about the night I almost told her I loved her.

When the song was done, the bowl was done, and it was time to get to Ray’s. I backed out of the driveway and headed back toward FM 368, which reminded me of the last time I saw Kelli. My heart ached but felt warm, and a quick glance in my rear view noted a tear in my eye but a smile on my face. I listened to “Katie W” one more time on the way to the stop sign so I could sing all the words. At the stop sign on the corner of Coleman Park Road and FM 368, I regrouped, put on Burn, Piano Island, Burn by The Blood Brothers and slammed a Red Bull on the way to Ray’s.

When I pulled up to the gate of The Residence, I noticed that I was the last man to arrive. Wesley’s green Geo Prism was right next to David’s convertible Volkswagen Cabriolet with the cow print seat covers. I pulled up next to them, gathered my belongings, and made my way to the back door.

I flung the door open in my best Cosmo Kramer, but no one was in the room to see it. Dejectedly, I shut the door. When I turned back around, Ray was in my face holding up a coffee cup.

“Drink this, Ginnings,” he said in a way that could only be described as devious.

“What is it?”

“It’s safe. Just drink it.”

“Alright,” I said, taking the cup. I threw back the contents and was surprised when I tasted licorice and isopropyl. “The fuck was that?”
“Ouzo. Good shit, huh?”

“Yeah, not bad.”

We walked through the kitchen and into the game room. Ric, Wesley, and David were already crowded around the pool table we played on. I grabbed the open seat. We each threw in our ten dollar buy and got our chips. Ric loaded a bowl, and we smoked before we drew high card for the first button. Ray won the deal with the King of Diamonds. The first few rounds were uneventful by poker standards. No big pots were played. Then came the hand that started the night.

It was Ray’s Big Blind. I was dealing. David folded, and Ric made a standard raise. I had the two black Kings and smooth called. Wesley folded, and Ray re-raised. Ric thought about it for a minute before making the call, and I put in a “reluctant” call.

The flop came King, Queen, Ten with two Diamonds. Ray bet about the size of the pot, and Ric pushed all-in on top of that. My heart sank. I knew my only chance was for the board to pair. Ray played wildly. I told myself he had either Jack-9, or more likely, he was betting on the come with a flush draw. I wasn’t so much worried about him. But Ric was arguably the tightest player at the table. The only thing I thought he could have was Ace-Jack, and perhaps the Ace-Jack of Diamonds.

“David. I’m folding my hand, but I want you to turn it over at the end of the hand,” I announced. Just as I assumed, Ray called the bet. After getting everything sorted out, it was Ray who was all-in. They turned over their cards, and sure enough Ric had made his straight, but Ray had a better hand than I had anticipated. He had the Queen-Jack of Diamonds.

“Goddamn, what a hand,” I said. I rapped the table twice. “Pot’s right.”

I dealt fourth street, and a monster break for Ray. It was the Five of Diamonds. The entire table groaned in disgust. The River came with no help to Ric. Ray now had a commanding chip lead, and Ric was crippled but not out completely.

“David, show them how good I am,” I said, and he flipped over my Kowboys. Everyone looked at me in awe.

“How did you fold that hand?” Ray asked, counting his chips.

“Come on, two to a flush with a straight on the board? Ric pushing all his money in the middle? You might not have been able to fold that, but I knew I was no good,” I said.

The deck made its way around the table a few more times, and I was pretty card dead. I loaded a bowl and cracked a Red Bull. My mind was drifting back to Kelli and that house on Coleman Park Road. I was remembering when Dan, Toby, and I used to ride our bikes out there when we were in junior high. I was snapped out of it when Wesley shoved all his chips in the middle. I looked to see what had driven the action. To my lack of surprise, Ray had a sizable bet sitting in front of him. The board read Jack-8-5-3.

“Fuck it,” Ray said. “Might as well gamble. I call”

Wesley turned over his Snowmen. He had flopped a set of Eights. Ray turned over 7-9 offsuit.

“What are you doing calling a raise before the flop?” David asked on Wesley’s behalf.

“I just had a feeling.”

“What, if you bet big on the flop no one would call you?” I shot at him.

“Something like that.”

“Let’s see the last card,” Wesley said to Ric who had busted out and was now serving as dealer. The River drowned Wesley when a 6 fell, making Ray’s straight.

“That’s dirty,” David said.

“Fucking sick,” I added. “Ray, you know Dave and I are about to tear you apart.”

“I have nearly three thousand friends over here who might disagree with you,” he responded, raking his pot. Ray did have a commanding chip lead, but David and I combined for about sixty percent of the chips in play. If one of us took a big piece out of him, we could chop him down.

“I’ll put five on the side that Dave and I play head’s up,” I spit at him.

“You’re on,” he accepted and extended his right hand. We shook, solidifying the deal. When it was David’s button, I looked down at Queen-10 of Hearts. I raised from the small blind and Ray called.

The flop came 8-9-Jack. I checked my nut straight.

“This is no good for you,” he taunted. He put out a bet a little over the size of the pot. I paused, took off my hat and set it on the table. I removed the bet from my chips and looked at what was left. I ran my hands through my hair. I put my hat back on before I made the call. The next card was a 6. I checked again.

“I would stop chasing whatever it is that you’re chasing,” Ray warned while putting in another big bet.

“I have to call, otherwise I won’t respect myself in the morning,” I said, matching his bet. The last card was no help to the board. I checked again, and Ray put me all-in.

“I flopped the nuts,” I announced, turning my cards face up after calling.

“You sneaky, little shit.”

This turn of events left me with the chip lead. Ray and David were about even with one another with about half the chips I had. The next hand, Ray pushed in before the flop with Queens. David called with Big Slick and hit a King on the flop, sending Ray to the kitchen to drown his sorrow in Ouzo.

“How ’bout that five spot?” I asked when he came back to watch David and I play head’s up.

“How ’bout you suck my balls?”

“I don’t know I could get ’em in my mouth.”

The game dragged on for about half an hour before we got some hands to battle with. I won a few small pots and had him covered when the dream scenario happened. I had the Ace-3 of Spades. The flop came 9-10-Queen of Spades. I was first to act, and I led with a pot-sized bet. David came back over the top of me for most of his chips. I considered for a moment what may be in his hand. I decided a bet like that could only mean one of two things: he either flopped the straight and held the King of Spades, or he already made a smaller flush. I re-raised and he called.

“I have bad news,” I said before turning over my hand.

“You have got to be shitting me,” he said, revealing his King-8 of Spades. “You have the only hand that could beat me.”

We grabbed the money from the coffee pot, I handed him fifteen, and pocketed the remaining thirty-five. We threw the chips back in their box and headed out to the back pasture to enjoy some smoke and the cool night air. We hopped on top of the row of round hay bales between the chicken coop and the barn. Wesley, Ray, and Ric laid on their backs and stared at the stars. David and I sat with our legs crossed. I took a look across the pasture to the wall of mesquite trees that made up the border of the property. I loaded a bowl and passed it to Ray to start.

“Thanks, man.”

“Least I can do after taking fifteen off you tonight,” I said, resalting the wound.

“Hey now.”

The bowl made it back to Ray in complete silence.

“You guys as bummed as I am that Mr. Williams is gone?” I asked.

“I didn’t even get him at all,” Ray said. “I’m stuck with Mrs. Goldfarb.’

“I’m sorry. He was a hell of a teacher. I just wish he would have stuck it out for a full year. I feel like I have educational blue balls right now.”

Everybody chuckled. When the bowl was done, I refilled it. We carried on for a while longer before we realized it was fastly approaching one in the a.m.

“Shit, I better get to getting,” I announced upon this revelation.

“Yeah, me too,” Wesley and David echoed. We all climbed down from the hay bales and knocked the excess off ourselves. We exchanged various displays of bromance before shuffling to our vehicles and heading down the driveway. I was first out of the drive, making a right-hand turn on to FM 367. The Cabriolet behind me turned left, heading to Magnolia. I could see the lights from the Prism flash in my rear view when Wesley turned onto the road behind me. As I passed Texowa, I saw the lights behind me grow distant and turn right. As I approached the intersection of FM 367 and FM 368, I had a decision to make.

I decided to keep straight and head back down Coleman Park Road. I went back to the abandoned house where Kelli used to live and parked my truck. I put on Some Devil, rolled down the windows, and climbed into the bed. I laid down and smoked my nightcap staring at the stars. I thought about how beautiful of a night this turned out to be and how I wish I could share it with her. When “Oh” came on, I all but lost it. Tears streamed down my face and I wondered when or how I could ever feel for someone the way I felt for her. When the pipe stopped smoking, I got back in the cab and headed back to the house.

When I got home, I was exhausted but restless. I got on my computer and started navigating through all the usual pages of pornography that helped me fall asleep after a wank session. But nothing was doing it for me. Finally, I hopped back in bed and put on Live at Luther College. I laid, still, listening to the words of Dave Matthews and thinking about the girl I never told I loved.